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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE 



POEMS OF 



EMOTIONAL LOVE 



AND 



OTHER POEMS 



BY 

RUTH CROSBY DIMMICK 



CHICAGO 
W. B. CONKEY COMPANY 

1907 



■ot 



,^'>;^' 



t^^A 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Cooles Received 

MAY 23 I90r 

s^ Copyright Entry 

'''-M . J. j;, / ^ 6 7; 

CLASS /i XXc, No." 

/7-i-oo U 

COPY B. 



Copyright, 1907, by 
RUTH CROSBY DIMMICK 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. 



f^ 



THIS LITTLE BOOK IS DEDICATED 

To one whose hand, outstretched, has helped me o'er 
The hills and valleys when the way was dark; 

Whose voice has called: "Go, plume thy wings and soar; 
Gaze on the stars; strive to outwing the lark." 

To one who, when Vve faltered by the way. 
Has come and said: "Now rest thee from thy task; 

Remember, 'Rome was not built in a day.'" 
To one whose kindly smile is all I ask. 

—THE AUTHOR. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE. 

Sunlight and Darkness 13 

My Guiding Star 14 

A Dream 15 

The Time of Times 17 

My Vows 19 

Useless 20 

Comparisons 21 

Mysticism 22 

A Parting 23 

Incomprehensible 24 

Aftermath 25 

Fickleness 26 

Old St. Augustine 31 

Dear Days ^^ 

What Would It Mean ? 34 

A Request 35 

Longing 35 

Between the Sunlight and the Dew 36 

The First Sweetheart 40 

Unequalled 41 

A Doubter 42 

Life 43 

A Dream of You 44 

To A Ghost 45 

A Memory 46 

The Rose That Decked Her Bonnet 47 

Your Answer 48 

Miss Nancy 49 

The Days That Can Never Be 51 



PAGE. 



The End 52 

An Accommodating Moon 53 

At Twilight 54 

Changed 57 

Dan Malone 58 

Dead Love 61 

MYTHOLOGICAL LOVE TALES 

Endymion 65 

Apollo and Daphne 67 

Echo and Narcissus 69 

Admetus and Alcestis 71 

MISCELLANEOUS 

Nobody Knows 77 

Arrabell Leigh 78 

An Autumn Sunset 80 

Only a Sawdust Doll 83 

Every Back Its Burden 87 

God's Masterpiece 88 

Too Late 88 

Childhood on the Farm 89 

What Does It Matter? 90 

The Builder 91 

We May Not Know 92 

Little Bess 95 

The Village Store 96 

The Wanderer 121 

Home 122 

New Year's Eve 125 

Evening Star 126 

Hope 127 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 



PAGE. 

Ruth Crosby Dimmick Frontispiece 

"The Day Has Been So Dreary" 1 1 

Marie 29 

"In the Evening when the Shadows Flit About Among the 

Trees" 37^ 

"We Used to Gather Flowers in the Spring" 55"^ 

"I've Been Waiting, Waiting, Waiting" 59 "^ 

"Poplar and Ash Their Branches Twined" 81 

"The Little Girl's Heart was Well-Nigh Broke" 85'^ 

"Four Years Old and Naughty" 93 '^ 

"The Village Store that Autumn Night" 97 "^ 

"And Often Got into Trouble" "3 

"The Little Home Way Back in Days of Childhood" 123 




"The Day Has Been so Dreary" 



POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE. 



SUNLIGHT AND DARKNESS 

The day has been so dreary 
And long and dark and weary 
Because the sunhght, dearie, 

Of your face, 
Has not come with its gladness 
And witchery and madness 
To lift the gloom of sadness 

From the place. 

Ah, love, when we're together 
It matters little whether 
The fog of dismal weather 

Dims the skies. 
But heaven would be dreary 
And cold and dark and weary 
Without the lovelight, dearie, 

Of your eves. 



13 



14 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE 



MY GUIDING STAR 



Through the dark ways of hfe thou art to be 
My guiding star and point the v/ay for me ; 
And through the vale where wearily I tread, 
I may look up and see thee overhead 
Shine radiantlv. 



And if, at last, when I have reached the light 
Out of the dark and dreariness of night. 
Thy voice should say: "Well done/' tho' near or far 
I'd be content to see thee, oh, my star, 
Smile radiantly. 



AND OTHER POEMS 15 



A DREAM 

I closed my tired eyes until 
My head upon my pillow 
Fell heavily : the world grew still 
And presently a mingled trill 
Of nightingale and whippoorwill 
Came from some far-off hollow. 

'Twas soothing, at the close of day, 

After my work was over, 
To hear the evening birds at play. 
In fancy I was far away 
'Midst scented fields of new-mown hay 

And meadow beds of clover. 

The tinkle of a nearby stream 

And croak of frogs came to me, 
Soft blended in a golden dream 
Beneath the moonlight's mellow gleam. 
While in my heart love reigned supreme 

And joy thrilled through and through me. 

With lithesome step I strayed into 

An old enchanted wildwood 
Where violets of azure blue 
And buttercups and daisies, too, 
Smiled up through crystled drops of dew 

As in the davs of childhood. 



1 6 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE 

And once more in a distant land, 

In days now gone forever, 
I felt a mother's gentle hand 
As lightly fell a reprimand 
On ears that could not understand 

And ears that heeded — never. 

Again I roamed through life's glad spring 

Without a sigh or sorrow, 
Not knowing that a vip'rous sting 
Close follows where sweet kisses cling, 
Just knowing that the birds could sing, 

Not caring for the morrow. 

On, on I went 'neath summer skies. 

Through long dream days of gladness, 
Looked once more into laughing eyes. 
Found once again the paradise 
That later life somehow denies. 
Ah, me! the days of madness. 

And then, alas! the first sunbeam 
Danced to the housemaid's ditty 

Across my face: there was no gleam 

Of silv'ry moon, no tinkling stream, 

And I had only had a dream 
Amidst a noisy city. 



AND OTHER POEMS 



17 



THE TIME OF TIMES 

There are times when I think that my heart has grown 

Indifferent, blase. 
There are times when it seems that I do not care 

How goes the hour of day 
Just so long as the weary old world wags on 

And lets me go my way. 

There are times, now and then, when I would give all 

If I could only be 
Far away from the haunts of the world of men 

"Where I might never see 
Human face; that I might never know the sound 

Of human voice near me. 

At such times not the smile of a kindly friend 

Is welcome — even you 
On my soul seem to pall- -with yot:r gentle ways — 

No matter what you do. 
At such times is my life a nonentity, 

A great void through and through. 

But again there are times when I know my heart 

Is like a furnace fire. 
When I long for the world and my spirits bound 

To heights from out the mire ; 
When my whole being thrills and I seethe and surge 

With passion and desire. 



1 8 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE 

Then I want but you, dear, with those Hps of yours, 

And feel I could abide 
For eternity held in your tender arms. 

No matter what betide, 
For a love like the love that consumes my soul 

Must needs be satisfied. 

And tonight is the time when my heart beats high — 

I want to feel you near. 
Come to me in the dark, in the dark alone. 

Your voice I want to hear— 
Come to me, ah, make haste, for of all the times 

Tonight I want you, dear. 



AND OTHER POEMS 



19 



MY VOWS 

I have said I would nevermore see you, 
And I swore it with firmest intent. 

I have said I would no longer love you 
And both of these vows I have meant. 

I have sworij by the gods to forget you 
Whose memory only brings pain. 

I have sworn it at midnight and noonday 
And over and over again. 

But, ah! when this spell is upon me 

Not the fear of my God nor the threat 

Of hell and eternal perdition 

Could make me one moment forget 

That the heaven for me is your bosom; 

That the only perdition I fear 
Is this, that you'll one day forget me 

While I shall remember you, dear. 



20 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE 



USELESS 

I know there is nothing in it, 

I know it can never be, 
But I Hke to close my eyehds 

And fancy your arms 'round me; 
And all through my dreams you follow 

And watch with your loving eyes 
Until the dawn of the morrow 

Breaks through the eastern skies. 

I know it is very foolish 

And much like a child at play, 
But I like to fancy you with me 

All through the dreary day. 
You sit in a chair beside me 

And watch as I work the while 
And the day is ever the brighter 

Because of your fancied smile. 

I know you are farther from me 

Than are the stars and the moon, 
That our paths are as wide asunder 

As days of December from June. 
And while I know it is useless 

And know it can never be, 
Still I like to close my eyelids 

And fancy your arms 'round me. 



AND OTHER POEMS 



COMPARISONS 



Oh! the smile of your mouth! 

The smile of your mouth! 

It is as a rose from the sweet-scented South 

Where bright sunlight plays 

Through all the long days, 

Yet never so bright as the smile of your mouth. 

Oh! the touch of your lips! 

The touch of your lips! 

It is as the honey the bumblebee sips 

From sweet, clinging vine 

And white columbine, 

Yet never so sweet as the touch of your lips. 

Oh! the dream of your eyes! 

The dream of your eyes! 

It is as a light in the far-away skies 

That comes gleaming through 

The violet blue. 

Yet never such light as the dream in your eyes. 

Oh! the sound of your voice! 

The sound of your voice! 

It is as the notes when the song birds rejoice 

Where clear waters flow 

And soft breezes blow, 

Yet never such notes as the sound of your voice. 



22 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE 



MYSTICISM 

Why did you come to me at dark of night 

And bring me that for which I dared not pray — 

Why did you come, but only, when 'twas Hght, 
To go away? 

That which you freely gave I did not try 
To gain, and though I thirsted hungrily 

And drained the cup, I knew, not knowing why, 
It could not be. 

What was the profit of that night ; the cost ? 

that the Sphinx inscrutable would speak 
And tell me whether I have gained or lost 

And how to seek. 

I know but this: you came without my call; 

1 know that which you gave was most complete, 
I know — though since the world has seemed to pall- 
That night was sweet. 



AND OTHER POEMS 23 



A PARTING 

'Twas down by the sea on a summer's day, 

The waves dashed high on the cool, white sand; 

He was going away and had come to say 
Good-by, and he held my hand. 

The moan of the waves and the pines close by 
Let the sob from my heart slip out unheard. 

My glance met his as he sought my eye, 
But we neither spoke a word. 

There were things that we might have said, perchance, 
And things that we might have done, and yet — 

We understood in that silent glance 
And there's nothing to regret. 

Yet I never see the waves dash high 

Nor the tall pine trees as they bend and sway 

But what I think of that last good-by 
And the day he went away. 



24 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE 



INCOMPREHENSIBLE 

I never could explain it 

And never understand 
Why the touch of gentle fingers 

Or clasp of a soft hand 
Can set my veins a-tingle 

With wildest ecstasy 
And open wide the portals 

Of paradise for me. 

I cannot comprehend it 

And never will know why 
A voice that is but tender, 

A glance from loving eye 
Can lift the gloom of sorrow, 

Unweave the tangled skein 
And bring the joy of living 

Back into life again. 



AND OTHER FORMS 25 



AFTERMATH 

If I had never seen your wond'rous eyes, 
Wherein the joy of all my being Hes, 

If I had never seen them lovingly, 

Full of a mellow Ught, look down on me, 
I would not care. 

If I had never known the tenderness 

Of your dear Ups, nor felt their warm caress 

Over my own drag sweetness Hngeringly, 
This weary aftermath then would not be 
So hard to bear. 



26 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE 



FICKLENESS 

When the summer turns to autumn and the moonhght 

nights grow long; 
When the sad , gray boughs are sighing and the birds have 

ceased their song ; 
When the day is still and dreamy and the leaves come 

softly down, 
And the green hues of the summer turn to crimson, gold 

and brown; 

Then, as fall the dead leaves downward, fall my dead 
hopes of the spring 

That were brightened into beauty by the summer's 
whispering. 

Hopes, so few of which were full blown, that grew beauti- 
ful and true. 

Most of them were half buds stunted and worm-eaten 
through and through. 

And as the leaves lie buried 'neath the dead grass and 

the rain, 
I have covered o'er the memory of the things that give 

me pain — 
All except one hope that lingers like the last leaf clinging 

on 
In among the barren branches after all the rest are gone. 



AND OTHER POEMS 



27 



'Twas the fairest hope that blossomed under sunny sum- 
mer skies ; 

'Twas a hope that Hved and flourished in a pair of 
wond'rous eyes. 

Eyes of brown, with love light glowing, oft come back 
to look at me 

As I sit among the shadows in the autumn silently. 

Wend their way into my chamber wdien the troubled 

world is still, 
And through weary hours haunt me, haunt me sore 

against my will. 
And I strive to put them from me, but soft lips come to 

caress 
'Til I quite forget my anger in their loving tenderness. 

Then the old-time hungry longing and the aching, 

hurting pain 
If the hope I buried deepest, for a time, comes back 

again. 
Yet 'tis but a fading mem'ry, a mere phantom, that is 

all. 
For the hope itself was buried when the leaves began 

to fall. 

But when autumn turns to winter and the spring again 

comes on. 
When the leaf that to the old tree clung so tenderly is 

gone. 
Those dark eyes will then have left me, buried hopes will 

be no part 
Of my life, unless to strengthen slender cords that bind 

my heart, 



2 8 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE 

As the leaves that lay all winter covered o'er with sleet 

and snow 
Will enrich the ground and make it so that buttercups 

may grow. 
And when moonlight turns to sunlight and the birds 

come back to sing 
'Mid the blossoms in the treetops, at the dawn of glowing 

spring ; 

When the day is clear and balmy and the sky an azure 

blue, 
Save the golden glowing circle where the sun comes 

burning through, 
Then my heart will, like the sapling, fill with hopes 

whose tendrils sprout 
As the old tree dons his verdure and the tiny leaves 

come out. 

And where sparkled once the brown eyes, laughing blue 

wdll look at me 
And the world will ring with gladness and my heart sing 

joyfully 
Until comes again the autumn when the moonlight 

nights grow long. 
When the dead leaves fast are falling and the birds have 

ceased their song. 




Marie 



AND OTHER POEMS 



31 



OLD ST. AUGUSTINE 

Down in old St. Augustine, where the moonUght's 
silv'ry sheen 

Falls in beauty o'er the Plaza, lighting up the verdant 
green ; 

I have watched its mellow rays coming slantwise 
through the maze 

Of branches, making diamonds where the public foun- 
tain plays. 

Old St. Augustine by night is to me the fairest sight 
Mine eyes have ever yet beheld and once 'twas my 

delight 
To seek out petite Marie, who was all the world to me, 
And 'neath the stars go strolling on the wall that guards 

the sea. 

Ah! it seemed like heaven then and my heart was happy 
when 

I held her little hand in mine, forgetting world and men; 

And as bending pines would sigh and the waters mur- 
mur by 

I'd whisper that I loved her as her voice made low reply. 

But in old St. Augustine things are not as they have 

been. 
Though the moon shines just as brightly and the Plaza 

lies as green 



32 



POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE 



As in days of long ago, but 1 miss the thrilling glow 
Of eyes that smiled up into mine and voice that whis- 
pered low. 

Yet my mem'ry somehow clings and my fancy often 

brings 
Those bygone evenings back to me, and as the old bell 

rings 
I walk down the narrow street, listening to hear her 

feet. 
Then out upon the old sea wall where we were wont to 

meet. 

But no tiny step is heard, though perchance a mocking- 
bird 

Sings out to me from some palm tree and tells me I'm 
absurd. 

As I sit down silently gazing out toward the sea 

And hear the sobbing of my heart come bounding back 
to me. 



AND OTHER POEMS 



33 



DEAR DAYS 

Dear days, dead days, past and gone forever. 
Only in my faint heart lives the mem'ry still. 

Moonlight, starlight, you and I together 

Gathering apple blossoms on a far-off hill. 

Pale-faced half-moon, mocking me in sorrow, 

How your sick light haunts my empty, aching dreams, 

My poor, worn heart, oh, why do you harrow. 

Calling up the dead past with your cold, white gleams ? 

Long since forgotten are the old vows plighted, 

Apple blossoms withered, ripened fruits are dead, 

Parted our ways are, ne'er to be united, 

Summer-time is over and the birds have fled. 

Dear days, dead days, how your mem'ry haunts me. 
Kisses sweet as heaven linger with me yet. 

Pale-faced half-moon, hide your sick light from me 
So I cannot see you, that I may forget. 



34 



POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE 



WHAT WOULD IT MEAN? 

I have heard of a city all made of gold 

On a scale indescribably grand; 
Of a wonderful sea I have oft been told 

And a beautiful promised land; 
And all this were mine if I willed it, dear, 

Yet what would it mean to me 
If I could not feel that you were near. 

If your face I could not see ? 

I have heard of the angels around the throne, 

Of the flowers that bloom alway; 
How that sorrow, dear heart, were never known 

In the light of an endless day. 
Yet how could I dwell in this promised land — 

Oh, what would it mean to me 
If you were not there to hold my hand, 

If your face I could not see ? 



AND OTHER POEMS 35 



A REQUEST 

I ask but one thing of thee, dearest, 

'Tis this, that thou settest apart 
A wee httle space that is nearest 

The tenderest cord of thy heart. 
And keep there, secluded forever. 

Away where the world may not see, 
The memory of one who will never. 

While life remains, cease loving thee. 



LONGING 



If, on this night of darkness, I could see, 
Through the dim light, your face look out on me, 
Or if your voice but faintly I could hear. 
Low, as of old, upon my famished ear, 
Longing would cease. 

If I could hold you for a little while 
Close in my arms, sweetheart, and see your smile. 
Or if your lips but softly I might touch. 
Whose sweetness, dear, I, knowing, miss so much- 
'Twould bring me peace. 



36 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE 



BETWEEN THE SUNLIGHT AND THE DEW 

In the evening when the shadows flit above among the 

trees 
And the sun sinks slowly down toward his home beyond 

the seas, 
Oft I sit in idle fancy and I half-way close my eyes 
While the god of necromancy weaves strange visions in 

the skies. 

I see faces that are fairer than the flowers Eden grew, 
I see jewels that are rarer than King Solomon e'er knew, 
And the faintest, sweetest music fills the quiet, balmy air, 
While innumerable fairies lightly dance about my chair. 

Many friends come back to visit and converse in voices 

low 
And recall the things that happened in the days of long 

ago. 
Some are full of life and joyful, there are some morose 

and sad; 
Some would rank among the angels, others class among 

the bad. 

'Tis a sort of retrospective or kaleidoscopic view 
Which I get among the branches 'twixt the sunlight and 
the dew, 




'In the Evenintr when the Shadows Fht Aliout Amonir the Trees' 



AND OTHER POEMS 



39 



And from out the long procession that gUdes by me and 

away, 
There is only one who has the bold temerity to stay. 

She, with all her old assurance and her ever- winning 

grace , 
Stands persistently before me with a smile upon her face, 
And that smile would lure the godlike out of heaven 

into hell, 
'Tis no wonder I, a weakling, to its charms a victim fell. 

And I reach into the gloaming and I touch her slender 
hand 

And v.e talk of things that no one else could ever under- 
stand ; 

Things the ignoramus classes in the catalogue of sin. 

And we bask in reminiscence 'til the dampness drives 
me in. 

Ah! if only I could see her in reality, not dreams. 
Although in the evening shadows very near her presence 

seems 
As I watch the hazv phantoms of the past glide slowlv 

by ' 

While the god of necromancy weaves strange visions in 

the skv. 



40 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE 



THE FIRST vSWEETHEART 

One afternoon, at the old Bijou, 
I sat in the pit; my vacant stare 

Was fixed on the stage, but saw far through 
The scene and the play enacted there. 

And backward over the hazy past 

My truant fancy traveled fast 
And left the noise and glare. 

For when I had turned to glance upon 
The audience, my fleeting gaze 

In that swift moment sought out one 
Who, in innumerable ways. 

Reminded me of one whom I 

Had known well in the years gone by 
And loved in olden days. 

My face flushed hot at the memory 
As, turning back, I saw the glow 

Of footlights burst forth radiantly 
And heard the music faintly grow 

Into a wail and softly die. 

And from my heart there came a sigh 
For the things of long ago. 

Then into a retrospective mood 

I sank so deep the time and place 

Were quite forgot ; I never could 

Recall what happened in that space, 



AND OTHER POEMS 41 

But onward in my reverie 
I wandered reminiscently, 
Following one dream face. 

And then the old first love divine, 

And scores of others I have known 
Arranged themselves in memory's line, 

But this first love came forth alone. 
And then I knew, although each face 
Had held my fancy for a space, 

I never loved but one. 

Ah! we all recall that first sweetheart; 

It matters not who comes betAveen, 
We look back o'er the days that part 

The now from then, and through the sheen 
Of faded days and vanished years. 
Of sunny smiles and stormy tears 

The first sweetheart is seen. 



UNEOUALLED 



There never were eyes like yours, 
Nor hair with such wavy flow 

There never were lips like yours. 
Nor kisses like vours, I know. 



42 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE 



A DOUBTER 

Often you have smiled and doubted 

When I said I thought of you ; 
Eyes have told me, if you spoke not, 

That you scarce believed it true, 
And I tried not to convince you 

For you never would believe — 
Words are useless with a douV)ter 

And 'tis easy to deceive. 

But I wish sometimes you knew it, 

That your heart could realize 
How I some days sit in silence 

Looking out upon the skies, 
Longing just to have you with me, 

Longing but your face to see. 
And would give the world to know that 

You were thinking then of me. 

Thoughts of you are with me always — 

When awake, and in my dreams 
I can even feel your kisses 

On my lips, and strange it seems 
That when friends are gathered 'round me, 

Friends I number by the host, 
With so much to make me happy 

It is then I miss you most. 



AND OTHER POEMS 

And above the sweetest music 

And the murmur of the throng 
I can hear you say, "I love you," 

And it thrills me like a song. 
And I turn to seek seclusion 

From the staring, noisy crowd, 
Lest they see and read my secret. 

Lest my heart should speak aloud. 

Then I try to think of others ; 

Of the things I have to do ; 
But my mind can never wander 

Very far awav from vou. 
And as like the flash of lightning 

Flashes back the wayward thought 
That dwells only for an instant 

On the days when you w^ere not. 



43 



LIFE 

A little touch of joy and love, 
A little touch of gladness, 

A little glimpse of heaven above 
And then a world of sadness. 

A little smile, a little kiss, 

A frown to keep us guessing; 

Ah! life is half of bitterness 

That we may know a blessing. 



44 



POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE 



A DREAM OF YOU 

I dreamed of you at the break of day, 
At the close of a weary, sleepless night, 

You had come to me with the moon's last ray 
And I kissed your red lips white. 

I held you close in exquisite bliss 

While near to my cheek your soft hair fell ; 
My soul caught fire upon your kiss 

And surged like a flame from hell. 

And you, with your proud and haughty way, 
My love, with the insolent, beautiful face, 

Forgot the role that you had to play 
And melted in love's embrace. 

Ah, God! it was only a dream I had 

On my lonely cot at the break of day. 

It was only a dream, but it drove me mad 
To wake and find vou away. 

And I knelt by my cot and prayed, I swear — 
A thing that I never was known to do — 

And I asked God to grant, if he heard my prayer, 
But one more dream of you. 



AND OTHER POEMS 



45 



TO A GHOST 

Why do your eyes come to me yet? 

Eyes that I buried long ago — - 
Why can you not let me forget, 

You, who have hurt me so, 

Are you not satisfied at last — 

Ghost of a dead that will not lie 

Low in your grave, but with the past 
Come back my soul to try ? 

Surely you've had it all your way 
(Surely you ought to be content) 

From that first hour of that first day 
When our first kisses blent. 

Am I no more of peace to know? 

Will your eyes always look at me ? 
Mercy, I pray you, dear, now go 

Back to your grave and let me be. 



46 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE 



A MEMORY 

I remember a night when the air was filled 

With a fragrant, sweet perfume; 
I remember a night when a song bird trilled 

On the casement of your room; 
I remember the stars in the far-off skies 

And the distant silv'ry moon; 
I remember the light in your tender eyes 

On a bygone night in June. 

In the stillness of night I cannot forget, 

And at noon your face 1 see. 
Like the odor that clings to the mignonette, 

'Round my heart clings a memory. 
I remember it all, dear, and that is all 

Now left of that night in June — 
Just a memory of the song bird's call, 

Of vour face, the stars and the moon. 



AND OTHER POEMS 



47 



THE ROSE THAT DECKED HER BONNET 

Oft the faint, sweet odor of a flower 

Or a strain of music, soft and low. 
Will bring to our mind a faded picture 

Of the days we cherished long ago ; 
But today I saw an Easter bonnet 

With ribbons bright and flowers covered o'er, 
And a rosebud nestled down upon it 

Took me back to dear old days of yore. 

'Twas but a rose that decked an Easter bonnet 
That perched above a pair of laughing eyes; 

'Twas but a rose, but it recalled a summer 
And made me live again 'neath sunny skies. 

One day, 'way back in my dingy attic 

Where for years I'd had no heart to go, 
I chanced upon a box of faded flowers, 

One there was that I had cause to know 
And I held the faded rose before me, 

Weaved it in the meshes of her hair. 
Basked beneath the sunlight of her glances 

Saw the little hat she used to wear. 

'Twas but a rose that decked an Easter bonnet 
That perched above a pair of laughing eyes ; 

'Twas but a rose, but it recalled a summer 

And made me live again 'neath sunny skies. 



48 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOIE 



YOUR ANSWER 

Do I miss you, you ask, dear; well, "missing" 
Is scarcely the word to express 

The closeness that smothers my being. 
My feeling of heart hungriness. 

Am I lonely without you, you question; 

Well, "lonely" could never impart 
To you so you'd half understand it, 

The longing that gnaws at my heart. 

Do I want you? Ah, love, can you doubt it? 

Does the sand on the plain want the rain 
After a long, arid season? 

If it does, then I want you again. 



AND OTHER POEMS 49 



MISS NANCY 

Miss Nancy, on a summer's day, 
Went gaily forth a-walking. 

She met young Jonathan and they 
Continued walking — talking. 

Said he: "Miss Nancy, marry me, 
You need a partner stronger." 

"No, thank you, not just now," said she, 
"I'll wait a little longer." 

And then Miss Nancy straggled back 

Unto her lonely cottage ; 
She hung her bonnet on a rack 

And cooked a mess of pottage. 

Her kitten scratched its scrawny side 
Against the three-legged table. 

Said Nancy: "Here alone I'll bide 
As long as I am able." 

Again, upon a day in spring. 
Young Jonathan met Nancy 

And forth they went a-marketing 
To purchase Fashion's fancy. 



50 



POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE 

Said Jonathan "Come, marry me, 
Or tell me what's the reason." 

"No reason, I just can't," said she, 
"I'll wait another season." 

Then back at eve she trudged alone 

Unto her lonely cottage ; 
She threw her cat a marrow bone 

And cooked a mess of pottage. 



The years have flown, and now she sits 
Beside her hearthstone knittin'. 

While 'round her ball of yarn there flits 
That kitten's kitten's kitten. 



AND OTHER POEMS 51 



THE DAYS THAT CAN NEVER BE 

Oh! for the days that can never be, 
The days of old, the days of gold. 

For the face of my lost sweetheart to see 
And her v,arm, soft hand to hold. 

Oh! for the old serenity 

When skies were blue and hearts were true, 
For the trust and faith in humanit}^ 

And the happiness I once knew. 

And if our blind eyes could but read 
Beyond the fears, beyond the years. 

Could see in time how hearts may bleed. 
There would be fewer tears. 

But, oh, for the days that can never be, 
The days of old, the days of gold. 

For the face of my long-lost love to see 
And her warm, soft hand to hold. 



52 



POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE 



THE END 

So you call this the end of it, do you? 

Well, it would be best if 'twere so. 
Perhaps now if I thought as you do 

I, too, could as well let it go. 

And our love has been only amusement 
To while 'way the hours for you? 

And the pleasure was such an inducement 

That you toyed with a heart that was true? 

Well, go, and I'll try to forget you. 

Ah! yes, I will try to forget, 
But I wish, dear, I never had met you 

For the end has not come to me yet, 



AND OTHER POEMS 53 



AN ACCOMMODATING MOON 

One night a big, round, shining moon 

Went saiUng out over the sea 
And softly and tenderly gazed down upon 
A loving young couple whose fond hearts were one 

As at twilight they crossed o'er the lea. 

'Twas a beautiful evening and fair, 

The sea breeze was balmy and warm 
And toyed with the strands of the maid's golden hair 
And tenderly blew out a curl here and there 

As she clung to the youth's manly arm. 

And he sung her an old, time-worn song. 

And he said: "Many moons I have tried 
To make }-ou my ow^n, can it be I am wrong 
Can it be I have waited in vain all along 

In the hope I might claim you my bride?" 

Lo! the look that came OA-er her face 

Was a wonderful sight for the moon, 
Who then dipt quickly under a cloudlet of lace 
Just to leave them in gloom for a wee little space 
That they might have a fair chance to spoon. 

And he stayed 'neath the cloudlet of lace 
Long enough, yet I know that a smile, 
When he heard the first kiss, dimpled over his face, 
As it shot like a bomb through the echoing space 
And sent the joy many a mile. 



54 



POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE 

And the great whitecaps joyously sprang 

And bounded in glee on the sea, 
And the deep, rolling waves of the dark ocean rang 
With the old, time-worn song that these new lovers 
sang 

As at midnight they crossed o'er the lea. 



AT TWILIGHT 



I sit alone, from all the world apart. 

And dream of olden days — a foolish dream — 
I fancy once again my old sweetheart 

Has come to me and in the dark I seem 
To feel his touch and hear his bated breath 

And whispers that could lure me through the stream 
Of life to death. 

Ah, me! I would 'twere not a twilight dream; 

I would that bygone days could once return, 
That I might see again the lovelight gleam 

In eyes that made the flame of passion burn 
Within me, ah! to hold again his hand — 

To have him now, I think, perhaps, we'd learn 
To understand. 




'We Used to Gather Flowers in the Spring' 



AND OTHER POEMS 



57 



CHANGED 

I wonder if the flowers bloom as fair 

As in the days of old, sweetheart, when we 

Walked hand in hand together everywhere 
And you were all in all this world to me. 

I wonder if the birds still sing in tune 
And if as brightly in the evening skies, 

Through clouds of tinted azure, burns the moon, 
As when its rays reflected in your ej^es. 

We used to gather flowers in the spring 

And oft together watched the bright sunset. 

And I took keen delight in everything 
A little while ago, dear one, and yet — 

Today I wandered by the old seaside 

Where we once walked, and there a while alone 
I watched the sun set o'er an ebbing tide, 

But all the beauty of the scene had gone. 

Last evening as I sat among a throng 
A singer struck the notes of a refrain, 

And sang throughout an old-time, well-loved song. 
But I detected discord in each strain. 

God pity me! I've no abiding place. 

I lost the world, sweetheart, in losing you. 
And earth is but an empty, dreary space 

That my sad, aimless spirit wanders through. 



58 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE 



DAN MALONE 

Dan Malone, do you remember? 
Can it be that you've forgotten, 
Have forgot the vow you pHghted 

On that day you went away? 
On that day, one white December 
When the log's last dying ember 
Room and hearthstone dimly lighted 

At th.e close of twilight gray? 

I've been waiting, waiting, waiting, 
Dan Malone, are you ne'er coming? 
Ah! it's just to hear your blarney 

That I dream my life away — 
All the little birds are mating 
While I'm w^aiting, waiting, waiting 
For your coming to Killarney 

As you promised me that day. 

O my heart has grown so weary 
Of its empty, gnawing hunger. 
But I'll wait me just to greet you 

'Til the end of life draws near; 
For I know so well, my dearie, 
You'll return some sad day dreary 
And you'll need me then to meet you 

Dan Malone, so hurry, dear. 




"I've Been Waiting, Waiting, Waiting" 



AND OTHER POEMS 6i 



DEAD LOVE 

Love, once 'tis dead, can nevermore 

Return to its full bloom again. 

And all the soul's deep enterprise 

To bring it back is vainly wrought, 

For never can it spring afresh 

From out the heart's clear depths as when 

At first it bounded into light 

With all the bliss of hope new-found. 

And strange it is this thing called love 

Can set the whole wide world agog; 

Strange that on httle Cupid's wing 

A soul may soar to Paradise. 

Strange that when once 'tis found and dies, 

The heart it leaves seeks evermore 

And seeks in vain for its return, 

Or searches for a newer love, 

Which, in the finding, though 'tis well, 

Can never fully satisfy. 



MYTHOLOGICAL LOVE TALES 



MYTHOLOGICAL LOVE TALES 



ENDYMION 

Diana, by some, was said to be cold 

Where affairs of the heart were concerned, 
But those who were in a position to know. 

By watching her, very soon learned 
That she was quite fond of a beautiful youth, 

Endymion, who on the steep, 
Rocky side of a mountain pastured his flocks 

And spent many hours in sleep. 

One night, in the pale, golden glint of the moon, 

Diana looked down from above 
And saw him asleep with his head on his breast 

And soon she was madly in love. 
Then softly she slipped off from heaven and came 

And kissed his warm lips as he slept 
And stayed by his side and over his^-flocks — 

A close, loving vigil she kept. 

And many an evening thereafter she came, 
But absence so much from the skies 

Soon caused in the minds of the deities there 
Suspicions to form and arise 

a 6n 



66 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE 

As to whether she really was off on the chase 
Or spending her time with the youth, 

And as she was more and more frequently gone 
'Twas difficult hiding the truth. 

So soon it was known and it made Venus glad, 

For many a time had she been 
Reproached for her fondness for beautiful youths 

By this very chaste Huntress Queen. 
But now when old Jupiter heard of the case. 

He, thinking the honor too great 
That had been extended to this simple youth, 

Decided to settle his fate. 

And so he submitted a choice between death 

And youth with eternal repose. 
Endymion's choice was the latter, of course. 

And he now sleeps in deep comatose 
In his Carian cave, and each night, from the moon, 

Diana guards him and his sheep, 
Increasing his flocks that he may not have loss 

IncurreJd by his long, endless sleep. 



AND OTHER POEMS 67 



APOLLO AND DAPHNE 

Apollo loved so many, 'twas rather hard to tell 

Which one he loved the dearest, for each he loved full 

well. 
His ways were very winning and great success he had 
In most of his adventures, though one of them was sad. 
In his romance with Daphne he was unfortunate 
And Cupid here played havoc — in manner up to date. 
It seems the god Apollo would sometimes laughing poke 
Great fun at this small fellow, who watched his chance 

to joke. 
The time soon came and Cupid, with a mischievous look, 
High up on Mount Parnassus, his lookout station took, 
And drew from out his quiver two arrows ; one with lead 
Was tipped — a love repellent; the other arrow had 
A tip of gold; this latter would draw love to the heart, 
And steadily the rascal now aimed this little dart 
At young Apollo's bosom, while with the leaden one 
He shot the heart of Daphne — and then began the fun. 
At once the god was stricken and love his bosom fired, 
While Daphne in an instant was with great fear inspired. 
Apollo saw her beauty, her eyes so clear and bright; 
He saw her lips of sweetness and longed with all his 

might 
For her, and went a- wooing, but she flew through the air 
And ran away in terror, her heart filled with despair. 
On, on o'er hill and valley it seemed she almost flew, 
And poor Apollo followed — 'twas all he now could do. 



68 POEMS OF EMOTIOXAL LOVE 

He cried: "Ah! stay, my Daphne, I am no foe, no clown, 
I am the son of Zeus, of great fame and renown; 
I am the god of sunshine and versed in music's art. 
My arrows all fly swiftly, but one has pierced my heart 
More deadl)^ than mine own are and leaves a malady 
No balm I fear can e'er heal, oh, Daphne, I love Thee." 
The chase continued madly, but finally Daphne knew 
That he was slowly gaining, for soon his hot breath blew 
Upon her hair; then fainting, she sank upon the sod 
And Peneus, her father, a famous river god, 
She called: "Oh, father, open the earth and close o'er me 
Or quickly change my being which brings me misery." 
Now scarcely had she spoken when lo! a trunk of wood 
With waving boughs and branches — a laurel tree she 

stood. 
Ah! but the god of sunshine was most amazed at this, 
Yet clung he to the laurel and gave it many a kiss 
Which caused the leaves to wither, yet not abashed, 

said he: 
"If thou wilt not my wife be, thou then shalt be my tree. 
And for a crown I'll wear thee and with thy graceful 

boughs. 
When come the Roman Conquerors, I'll decorate their 

brows. 
And as all youth eternal is mine, thou shan't decay." 
The laurel waved its branches, but had no word to say. 



AND OTHER POEMS 69 



ECHO AND NARCISSUS 

Echo was a maiden fond of hills and woodland, 

Favored by Diana whom she followed in the chase; 

Beautiful and witching, charming in her manner. 
But the noisy tongue she had brought her sore dis- 
grace. 

Juno so disliked her for her constant chatter 

That she took her tongue away, left the little maid 

With no means of talking, save as she replied to 

Questions that were asked her or mimicked what 
was said. 

Echo loved Narcissus, who was very handsome, 
But she could not tell him as she wished to do. 

Though she often sought him, and when once he shouted, 
"Let's join one another," off she fairly flew. 

Crossed the river to him and, with arms extended, 
Started to embrace him in her joyous glee. 

"Hands off!" said he rudely, and his manner altered, 
"I would rather perish than thou shouldst have me." 

"Have me," answered Echo, but he would not listen. 
Went away and left her lone and sore and sad. 

Then she turned and wandered over hill and mountain, 
Pined away 'til nought was left save what voice 
she had. 



70 



POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE 



Now this young Narcissus was so self-conceited 
That he shunned all maidens, as in Echo's case; 

But the foolish fellow, stooping o'er a river. 
One day saw the image of his own sweet face. 

He became enamored, struggled to embrace it, 

Laughed to it and talked to it and languishingly 
sighed. 
And when he grew weary of his vain endeavor. 

Knowing nought would come of it, in his grief he 
died. 

And it is related as his shade was passing 

Down the Stygian river, dark and deep and wide. 

Death had not diminished in the least his passion. 

For his phantom leaned and looked o'er the vessel's 
side 

Just to catch a fleeting glimpse of its fair image 
As it softly glided down the water's crest. 

And when he had left them, all the pretty maidens 
Who had loved him mourned for him — Echo with 
the rest. 

And they, being anxious to cremate his body. 

Learned on looking everywhere it could not be found. 

That instead a flower of a beauteous color, 

Where his form had vanished, sprang from out the 
ground. 

And thus the Narcissus, full of grace and beauty, 
Waving in the sunshine, into being came, 

And throughout the ages has this little flower 
Flourished to his mem'ry, honoring his name. 



AND OTHER POEMS 71 



ADMETUS AND ALCESTIS 

Admetus, King of Thessaly, 

Went suing for the hand 
Of Alcestis, the maid he deemed 

The fairest in the land. 

Her father oft had made the boast 
His daughter should but wed 

The man who in a chariot came, 
By boars and lions led. 

This feat the King accomplished 
Through Apollo's timely aid, 

And thus became most happily 
Possessor of the maid. 

But soon the King grew pale and ill. 
Death seemed to hover near, 

And now the god came forth again 
And prayed the Fates to hear. 

He wrung from them, at length, consent 

That, if another died 
In place of this beloved King, 

They would be satisfied. 

Now 'twas a task to seek out one, 
For though man risked his head 

In battle-fields, he scarce would care 
To choose a feverish bed, 



72 POEMS OF EMOTIOXAL LOVE 

Brave warriors and servants old, 
In turn they one and all 

Refused to die, his parents, too, 
Declined to heed the call. 

Then Alcestis, devoted wife, 
Came quickly forth to give 

Her life to save the King that he 
Might gain his health and live. 

Admetus, though he loved his life 

(With credit be it said). 
Desired not to keep it then 

At cost of her fair head. 

But the condition had been met; 

The Fates were satisfied. 
And as Admetus gained in health 

Alcestis failed and died. 

Now scarcely had the funeral 

Gone forward when there came 

A man unto the palace gates — 
One Hercules by name. 

Of mighty strength he was possessed, 
And as he loved the King, 

He swore that he would conquer Death 
And back the loved one bring. 

Then after he had made the vow 
He turned and went away 

And now the Thessalians mourned 
And waited many a day. 



AND OTHER POEMS 

But, lo! at last did he return, 

And to the King he went — • 
Who sat in grief and solitude, 

His head in sorrow bent. 

The form and brow of Hercules, 
This man of power and might, 

Bore many a battle mark and scar, 
But he had won the fight. 

And through the damp upon his face, 

A smile as if of pride 
Came flitting through as close he pressed 

An object at his side. 

'Admetus," said he, "take and keep 

This woman 'til I come;" 
But King Admetus liked no thought 
Of woman in his home. 

Then finally, said Hercules: 

"Take hold of her, mine host, 

And see if she resembles not 

The wife whom thou hast lost." 

The King looked up: his speech was dumb, 

As on the form he gazed; 
He could not quite believe his eyes 

And sat as one amazed. 

Alcestis yet had scarcely moved 

And not a word she spoke, 
And for a time the King believed 

Some god had played a joke. 



73 



74 



POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE 

Some cruel god, who thought, perhaps, 
The shock might end his Ufe, 

But Hercules came to his aid 
And told him of his strife. 

Told him how he had fought with Death 

And how he won the day. 
Then, seeing that his work was done. 

He went upon his way. 



MISCELLANEOUS 



MISCELLANEOUS 



NOBODY KNOWS 

Nobody knows until night's gloomy cover 

Drops like a pall, what the day may disclose; 

And until after a cloud passes oyer, 

What it will bring to us, nobody knows. 

Nobody knows — and the soothsayers fail us — 
What will appear ere the coming year goes ; 

Whether with sorrow and woe 'twill assail us, 
Or lightened with pleasure, nobody knows. 

Nobody knows what lies over the river, 
• That dark, mystic river which endlessly flows, 
Bearing away our beloved ones forever 
To an eternity — nobody knows. 

Nobody knows, and 'tis well, for the knowing 
Never would lighten our burden of woes ; 

But that good fruit springeth out of good sowing 
Ere the bright season wanes, every one knows. 



77 



yg POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE 



ARRABELL LEIGH 

'Way down in the old apple orchard, 

Under the shade of a tree, 
Deep in the tall, waving grasses, 

They've buried my Arrabell Leigh. 

The wind wails a dirge through the branches, 

A cloud hides the sun overhead 
And the boughs bend to earth with their weeping 

Because my poor dolly is dead. 

Most every one loved her who knew her. 

For she was so gentle and sweet 
From the very tip-top of her forehead 

Right down to the soles of her feet. 

But then she was old, and my mother 

Said: "Arrabell better be dead 
Than live the sad life she is living 

With all of those holes in her head.' * 

One eye she had lost, for my brother 

When shooting his little toy gun 
Aimed right at her head, "accidentally," 

Then laughed when he saw what he'd done. 



AND OTHER POEMS 79 

Last summer she fell from her hammock 

And, striking her beautiful arm, 
She broke it in three different places. 

Which caused me the greatest alarm. 

Not long after that she was sitting 

Alone in her own rocking-chair 
When Towser got hold of the darling 

And tore off her beautiful hair. 

I slipped with her once on a wood-pile 

And let her fall square on an axe, 
Which left a great hole in her forehead. 

Though I tried to remove it with wax. 

But now all her troubles are over, 

She lies 'neath the old apple tree, 
And there at her head stands a tombstone 

Reciting that Arrabell Leigh 

Died of old age; that while living 

She had always been gentle and good 

And lived all her life like a lady, 
As every real good dolly should. 

I know now, at last, she is happy, 

And if so, that I ought to be, 
But somehow or other the knowledge 

Is poor consolation to me. 

While the wind wails a dirge through the branches. 

And a cloud hides the sun overhead 
And the boughs bend to earth with their weeping 

Because my poor dolly is dead. 



POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE 



AN AUTUMN SUNSET 

Set in a sea of crocus blue, 
Like a ball of gold, the sun 

Far in the west sinks out of view, 
Warmth dies, and the day is done. 

Tawny above the hill supine 
In silhouette bow the trees; 

Poplar and ash their branches twine 
And sigh and sob in the breeze. 

And sweeping over the silent plain. 
Softly the leaves come down. 

Making the earth a counterpane 
Of molten yellow and brown. 




'Poplar and Asli Their Branches Twined' 



AND OTHER POEMS 83 



ONLY A SAWDUST DOLL 

Little Kathleen, scarcely five years old, 
With a kissable mouth and golden hair, 

Who is worth twice over her weight in gold, 
Came up to my rocking-chair. 

Held in her arms was a dear little mite 

Of a pale-faced doll, with its broken wrist 

Hung in a sling and bound 'round tight 
In a handkerchief I had missed. 

The little girl's heart was well-nigh broke 

And the pretty blue eyes were filled with tears. 

While the face that peeped from the faded poke 
Bore a careworn look of years. 

"What is the matter, dear?" said T. 

"Come, sit on my lap and tell me all. 
It is foolish indeed for you to cry 

This way o'er a broken doll. 

"For soon we can get you another one 

That will close her eyes and nod her head 

And say 'Mamma,' and, oh! what fun 
We'll have with her," I said. 



84 POEMS OF EMOTIOXAL LOVE 

But her sobs increased, and she cried, "Ah, me! 

To think she is only a sawdust doll, 
And I have tried so carefully 

To keep her from a fall. 

"And that is the reason why I feel 

So bad; it is breaking my heart, you see, 

Because my dolly isn't real 

And flesh and bones like me." 

Poor little dear! In her sore distress 

She had come to me with a broken heart 

To be comforted, but I must confess 
That I badly played my part. 

For I only rumpled the curls of hair 
And suddenly turned my face away 

And said: "Well, sweetheart, don't yovi care. 
But run on out and play." 

And I thought how often w^e older ones 
Waste the best of life on a sawdust doll 

Only to find no flesh and bones 
When we chance to let it fall. 




"The Little Girl's Heart Was Well Nigh Broke' 



AND OTHER POEMS 87 



EVERY BACK ITS BURDEN 

Every life has its own secret sorrow, 
Every back its burden has to bear, 

Every heart is hopeful that the morrow 

May end doubt or vanquish pain and care. 

Every man, no matter what his station, 

Yearns for something just beyond his clasp 

And would yearn, no doubt, though all creation 
Were but held within his conquering grasp. 

Step by step we climb life's rugged mountain, 
Thirstily we grope across the plain. 

Yet when reached, the summit or the fountain 
Is not all that we had hoped to gain. 

Life is past our power of conceiving. 
And 'tis useless for us to contend. 

But there is a comfort in believing 
That a vict'ry waits us in the end. 

If we smile through tears that nearly blind us, 
And bend low to pass beneath the bars, 

If we falter not to look behind us. 

But with faith climb on toward the stars. 



38 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE 



GOD'S MASTERPIECE 

Of all the things God ever made, 

Inanimate or human, 
His fairest piece of handiwork 

Has been a perfect woman 

Lo! in a world all beautiful, 

To her a place is given. 
Highest upon love's pinnacle, 

Pointing the way to heaven. 

Fairer than is the Kohinoor, 
Priceless beyond all measure, 

She reigns, God's greatest Masterpiece 
And earth's supremest treasure. 



TOO LATE 

"All things come to those who wait," 
I have heard wise heads declare; 

Well, it may be so, but they come so late, 
Sometimes, that we do not care, 



AND OTHER POEMS 



CHILDHOOD ON THE FARM 

I am lonesome today; the folks are gone, 

And I feel from all the world alone. 
The clock on the shelf ticks on and on, 
It ticks and tells me the folks are gone 
And I feel awfully all alone. 

The day has been chilly, clear and cold 

And the north wind whistles fierce and bold; 
It sounds so angry and seems to scold 
The sun who has often the clouds unrolled 
And tried the earth in its warmth to fold. 

But the wind throws shadows across the sun 

And taunts me to madness here alone, 
While the clock on the shelf ticks on and on 
And ticks and tells me the folks are gone 
And I feel awfully all alone. 

What a terrible thing it is to be 

Lonesome and in such company 
As the north wind howling in fiendish glee, 
The cricket chirping mournfully 

And the old clock ticking down on me. 



90 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE 



WHAT DOES IT MATTER? 

What does it matter when the Hghts are out 

If rooms are bare? 
What does it matter if the walls are torn? 

Why, don't you care. 
Don't settle back in deep despair and weep, 
Don't let it worry you at night and keep 
Dreams from your tired eyes, but go to sleep 

And don't you care. 

What does it matter when the end has come 

If friends are rare? 
What does it matter if your gods prove false? 

Why, don't you care. 
Drown out the moanings with a cheery tune. 
After the sun has set riseth the moon. 
Laugh just a little, for the end comes soon, 

And don't you care. 



AND OTHER POEMS 91 



THE BUILDER 

A little boy builded a house one day 

Upon the sand ; 
He carried the stones and worked away 

And shaped and planned 
And moulded the turret and rounded dome 
After the style of his own grand home, 

With his small hand. 

Then calling his playmates one by one 

He bade them see 
This marvelous thing which he had done 

So cleverly. 
And coming, with awe in their childish eyes, 
They gazed on his work in great surprise 

All wonderingly. 

And then as they watched beside the door, 

The sun's last ray 
Went sloping across the white sand floor 

At close of day. 
And the heart of the builder thrilled with pride. 
With his day's work he was satisfied 

And went away. 

That night in his sleep he tossed about 

And restless lay 
'Til rose the sun as the tide went out 

At break of day. 



92 



POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE 

Then eagerly to the beach alone 
He hurried, but lo! his house of stone 
Had washed away. 

And all of his dreams were shattered there — 

The joys he'd planned. 
Why, he could not know in his despair, 

Nor understand; 
But he learned full well as the years went past 
That a house, though of stone, could never last 

Built on the sand. 



WE MAY NOT KNOW 

We may not know and cannot see 
That rough roads prove the best. 
And often 'tis impossible 

To feel that we are blest 
When things turn out so difTerent 

From what we wish them to 
And bring us disappointments 

When we long for joys but few. 




'Four Years Old and Naught}- 



AND OTHER POEMS 95 



LITTLE BESS 

Face all dirt and dimples, matted curls of hair, 
Eyes — one scarce can see them for the mischief there. 
Mouth made just for kisses and my happiness. 
Four years old and naughty is my little Bess. 

Mud pies spill their juices on the pure white gown, 
Chubby cheeks show traces where the tears run down, 
Fearful lest I'll chide her for her carelessness, 
Yet I only clasp and kiss my little Bess. 

Ah! I spoil my darling as each day goes by 
And the wee one knows it just as well as I; 
Yet she's such a baby, and I must confess 
There was ne'er another quite so sweet as Bess. 

And I look beyond her into future years. 
See a woman's sorrow and a woman's tears. 
When there'll be no mother's soft hand to caress 
And to wipe the tear-stained cheeks of little Bess. 

So I like to watch her when she's "havin' fun" 
Playing in the garden in the shining sun. 
And if in the mud pies she finds happiness, 
I have not the heart to scold my wayward Bess. 



96 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE 



THE VILLAGE STORE 

November's sun dropt o'er the crest 
Of distant hills and left the west 
A crimson hue, and everywhere 
Sweet autumn odors filled the air. 
The far-off trees, grown thick and high, 
Stood dark and bold against the sky, 
And 'way down in the valley all 
The evening birds began to call. 

The village maidens, after tea. 
Strolled forth the village sights to see, 
The while the youth who lived about 
Lit corncob pipes and ventured out. 
The mothers tidied up indoors 
And did a dozen little chores, 
And when their earnest prayers were said, 
Before 'twas dark had gone to bed. 

The village store, this autumn night. 
Presented quite a pleasing sight; 
The old stove, standing half-way back, 
Spit fire from out each time-worn crack. 
Spreading a warmth about the room. 
Doing to death the monster gloom. 
The ceiling overhead was seared 
-And seamed where it had been repaired. 
And here and there where plaster fell 
A hole was left the tale to tell. 




'The Village Store that Autumn Night" 



AND OTHER POEMS gg 

A large oil lantern, from a beam 
Suspended, shed a ruddy gleam 
On shelves and boxes in a row 
Which brightly shone beneath its glow. 

There, as the eve grew on, were found 
The village masters gathered 'round 
To hear the news and take a smoke 
And turn by turn the fire poke. 
The keeper of the store was there 
And stood erect, with haughty air, 
As though he were a King whose court 
Had gathered for an evening's sport. 

There sat the Blacksmith, big and stout, 
Who shoed the horses 'round about; 
The Doctor, with his chest of pills. 
Who tended to the village ills. 
There was the burly City Clerk 
Who drew a salary without work; 
The Teacher of the public schools, 
Who wielded birch and taught the rules, 
The County Judge, with squeaky shoes, 
Who fairly reeked with latest news. 
The Parson, too, had happened in 
And though he recognized the sin 
Of gossiping, would seldom fail. 
When called upon, to tell a tale. 

The lantern seemed to shine more bright 
Than usual, somehow, tonight. 
A feeling of good-fellowship 
And right congenial comradeship 

LOfa 



loo POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE 

Seemed, on this eve, to permeate 
The atmosphere and penetrate 
The hearts of all ; each smiling face 
Lent brighter radiance to the place. 

A circle had been formed about 

The cracking stove ; the wind without 

Had risen to a dismal wail, 

'Twas time some one should start a tale ; 

But hold! the door swings open wide; 

In walks a man with measured stride — 

One who though last to come was not 

The least important of the lot. 

For he was one of runs and rhymes — 

The village Poet who, at times. 

Presided o'er the meeting there. 

At once was placed another chair. 

He sat him down and smiling bright 

Said: "Well, my friends, what's up tonight?" 

"Why, nothing yet," the Doctor cried; 

"We needed you," the Host replied. 

"Ah, not tonight," the Poet said, 

With mournful toss of tawny head, 

"I would not have you think me rude. 

But really, I'm in fearful mood." 

"Where have you been?" asked Parson Brown, 

"We have not seen you in the town 

These many days — is aught awry?" 

The Poet's answer was a sigh. 

"Come," said the Parson then, "cheer up! 

We'll pass about the loving cup." 

The cup was filled ; the honored Host 
Was called upon to give a toast. 



AND OTHER POEMS loi 

The gourd he took complacently 

And bowed an old-time courtesy. 

"My friends," said he, "I take delight 

In seeing you again tonight. 

The summer days have come and gone 

And winter now is drawing on. 

And as the seasons come and go 

As ocean has its ebb and flow, 

So do our lives unfalt'ringly 

Flow onward to eternity. 

So here's a Toast to Death, the friend 

Who claims us when our seasons end : 



Toast to Death 

Here's to the cup in the mystic clutch 

Of the unseen hand of Death, 
Whose nectar no man's lips may touch 

Except with his last faint breath. 
And here's to the hope that when at last 

I drink to my soul's release 
And the dregs from the cup my lips have past- 

I may find eternal peace. 

"Good!" cried the list'ners, with accord, 
And then the Poet grasped the gourd 
And sadly said: "As for my part, 
I'll drink to that with all my heart." 
The Parson plucked the Doctor's sleeve, 
"Unless appearances deceive. 



POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE 

He whispered low, "our Poet there 
Has had a touch of heart affair." 

Now 'round the circle went the cup, 
And after each had taken sup 
The Blacksmith rose upon request 
And bowing low to host and guest, 
Began: "This season of the year, 
When holidays are drawing near, 
Brings to my mind an episode 
Which happened near the Old Bend Road- 
Not many miles away from here — 
About this very time last year. 
Then told he, in a sing-song way, 
A story of Thanksgiving Day. 



Thanksgiving 

'Twas the day before Thanksgiving, and the greatest 

wild alarm 
Prevailed amongst the feathered fowl that dwelt upon 

our farm. 
Acceptances had been received, which numbered near a 

score, 
From invitations we had sent a day or two before, 
Informing all the neighbors that the best that could be 

had 
Would be set out before them in a grand and glorious 

spread. 



AND OTHER POEMS 



103 



I was walking through the barnyard, when I chanced to 

hear a row 
Raging very fast and furious beside the brindle cow, 
Between an old game rooster and a gobbler, big and fat, 
And witnessed by the chicks, the turks, the pig, the dog, 

and cat. 
The feathers flew about me 'til the air was fairly blue. 
As I stopped a while to listen and to see the rumpus 

through. 

Now it seems the argue started all about the hens at 

first, 
As to which one had the finest harein or which had the 

worst. 
"Now, I'll tell you," said the rooster, and he cock-a- 

doodle-dood, 
"Of all the females in this world I have the finest 

brood." 
" 'Tis not so," replied the gobbler, "they're the worst I 

ever saw," 
And he tried to stick his long spurs into Mr. Rooster's 

craw. 

Then the game cock's wrath grew awfvd, and he felt in 
duty bound 

To get even with the gobbler, with his hens all standing 
'round ; 

So he bristled up his feathers and he grazed the gob- 
bler's cheek 

In a manner quite astounding, with his razor pointed 
beak. 

Then the harems were forgotten as the fury grew apace, 

And all the little audience went flying from the place. 



I04 



POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE 



Said the gobbler: "You old rooster with your cock-a- 
doodle-do, 

You are not so very much, sir, I'm three times as big as 
you." 

"That's all right," returned the rooster, "you may think 
you're very fine. 

But just wait until tomorrow and we'll see which one 
will dine 

On the giblets of the other scattered all the yard about; 

That you'll be the victim, gobbler, I have not the slight- 
est doubt." 

Now the cow, who had been standing with her head 

down in a pail. 
Began to get excited and to switch her brindle tail. 
And she turned all of a sudden, with a kick — I do de- 
clare — 
That sent the cock and gobbler both high fl3''ing through 

the air 
With intense expostulations, in a treble minor key, 
Which bespoke the greatest discord and all things but 
harmony. 

Well, the sequel is: I happened to be strolling out that 
way. 

After heavily partaking of the feast Thanksgiving Day, 

And I spied the wily rooster, with his hens all gathered 
'round 

Where the remnants of the gobbler had been scattered 
on the ground, 

And a turkey hen was pecking at, miCthinks, the very 
claw 

Which the day before the gobbler aimed at Mr. Roos- 
ter's craw. 



AND OTHER POEMS 

When he was done, the Parson smiled, 

The poet even seemed beguiled 

From care, and listened with intent. 

From first to last the Doctor lent 

Attention to this barnyard lore 

And called with husky voice for more. 

The old Judge muttered: "Ah! how true 

To human nature through and through, 

For is it not the case with men? 

They fight and die for women, then — 

When from the scene they're called away 

They are forgotten in a day." 

"Here! here!" the Clerk called," 'tis no place 

To hold post-mortem in the case : 

Let's fill the cup and wet our throats 

And have a few more anecdotes." 

"Well, then the next from you must be," 

Returned the Host, who tried to see 

That every one was treated fair 

And that in part each man took share. 

He tried to keep and had thus far, 

The spirit of the place at par. 

The gourd was filled and passed arouna 

And sipped in silence most profound, 

And when each one had quenched his thirst 

And ebbing fun was reimburst. 

They called upon the Clerk to see 

What he could do, and lazily. 

He stroked his smooth cheek, pale and wan, 

Glanced o'er the group and then began: 

"You know, boys, I, in solitude, 

Now live ; in manner rather crude ; 

You know — each man who's had a wife — 

'Tis not the proper sort of life. 



105 



io6 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE 

And last eve, 'midst the forest's moan, 
I sat at home and mused alone, 
And now I'll tell, for your delight, 
The hearthstone dream I had last night. 



A Bachelor's Reverie 

In the pale glow of my hearth sat I, rocking, 

The coals turned to ashes, the wind to a moan; 

Half-way a-dreaming, my weary head nodding. 
As in retrospection my mind wandered on. 

Alone! all alone in the prime of my manhood, 
With no one to love me and no one to care. 

And I mused on the cause of my lonely condition 
As comfort I sought in the dying coals there. 

"Now there ought to be some one," thought I, "here be- 
side me. 

Some one to smooth the deep lines from my brow, 
Some one to love me and some one to chide me. 

And I miss her tonight — God only knows how. 

"Am I to blame?" thought I, "well, I believe it. 
Though I'd never own to the question before. 

I have looked for a girl more than humanly perfect 
And have thought 'I will find her some day to adore.* " 



AND OTHER POEMS 107 

I have cared for some maids who have been worth the 
loving, 
But then I would think ere I got to the point, 
"I'm at peace with the world — she has faults, I am 
foolish, 
This last final act might put things out of joint." 

And so I'm alone, and it dawned on me clearly 
That I had been selfish e'en to the extreme. 

For in thinking of self I'd forgotten the woman. 
Forgotten she, too, might have her ideal dream. 

Then there in the grate I saw one coal left burning, 
Said I: "I will turn it and give it a chance; 

How it makes the room bright with a little deft turning 
And the pretty flames light up the wall in their 
dance." 

How cheerful it was! To return to my dreaming — 
There flashed then across me the image of Nell. 

"She was dear," I mused on, "and I loved her, she 
seeming 
To reciprocate fondly my kisses, ah, well! 

"It can now scarcely matter ; years have passed since I 
saw her, 

I hear she is single, but I'm not to blame. 
For though I remember her sweet, clinging kisses, 

'Tis probable she has forgotten my name." 

Then I had a bright thought; said I, "I will write her, 

Write her a note in a half- joking way, 
Tell her by chance I might pass through her village 

And drop in and see her a moment some day. 



io8 POEMS or EMOTIONAL LOVE 

"Ask if she recalls how I once came a-wooing, 

And ask if she thinks she could — yes, I will write 

While the one little coal in the grate is left burning 
For soon 'twill be dead on this raw, dismal night. 

"And when her answer comes (for my coarse intuition 

Tells me 'twill be as I wish it to be), 
I will hasten to tell her of my desolation 

And how I have longed for her sweet face to see. 

"And I'll liken my life to the smouldering ashes 
With one spark of love for her throwing its rays, 

Bid her come into my life while it flashes 
And fan the pale glow deftly into a blaze. 

"I will own to the truth, for there's no use denying, 
Man never was made to live wholly alone. 

I hate the old grate and I hate the wind's sighing, 
It echoes the wail of my heart with its moan." 



The Clerk lolled backward in his chair 
And ran his fingers through his hair. 
And breathed a long and deep-drawn sigh; 
Then, glancing up, caught every eye 
Upon his face attentively 
And saw extended sympathy. 
"But," asked the Parson, "did you write 
The letter? You've not finished — quite." 
"Oh, yes, I wrote, although 'twas late, 
And mailed the letter at the gate." 
The Host stepped forward to extend 
Congratulations to his friend 



AND OTHER POEMS 

And said: "I wish you joy and wealth;" 
Then from the gourd all drank his health. 

'Twas noticed now the Judge had sat 
Most of the evening with his hat 
Drawn o'er his face: once in a while 
He would look up and gravely smile. 
But then his mind seemed far away. 
He scarcely had a word to say. 
Which was not normal; usually 
The old man talked incessantly. 

The Poet saw his vacant stare 
And for some time had been aware 
That he, the general fount of fun, 
This evening was the quiet one. 
And so he nudged the Judge and said: 
"Why art thou pensive — some one dead?" 
The Judge looked up surprisedly, 
"Why, no," he answered falt'ringly, 
"None dead except a part of me, 
My youth is dead, as you can see." 
"What was your dream just now about?" 
Some one among the group called out. 
"Come, tell us, Judge," the Host chimed in 
And waited for him to begin. 



109 



no POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE 



An Old Man's Fancy 

And so — you would know where my thoughts have been ? 

Well, I have been thinking of long gone-bys, 
Of golden days that were all serene — 

When never a sorrow dimmed Hope's skies. 

I was thinking of times when I used to play 

In an old oak grove beside a stream, 
Where the fishes swam with my hooks away 

While I sat on the bank in a hopeful dream. 

I saw once again the dear old home, 

The grove of oaks, the little hill. 
The favored nooks I used to roam, 

And thought I was a youngster still. 

I heard my playmates' welcome call 

To come and join them o'er the way; 
I'd not miss this sport least of all, 

So off I ran for a holiday. 

I forgot for a time my snow-white beard. 
Forgot I had long since passed my prime, 

Forgot that my face, once fair, is seared 
And deeply lined by the rule of time. 

And I cannot go to my playmates now, 

But must sit in my easy chair and dream — ■ 

Dream of the dear old days and how 
I once could play beside the stream. 



AND OTHER POEMS 

The Parson spoke when he was through: 
"Well, Judge, I never thought that you 
Would fall into such pensiveness; 
I am surprised, I must confess. 
Of course you're getting old, but he 
Who lives must necessarily 
Grow old; and now just call to mind 
The few (and consolation find) 
Who've traveled on life's dusty road 
As far as you and borne their load 
As lightly as you have and show 
So little trace of care and woe." 
"Here!" cried the Clerk, "is this to be 
A sermon or a lecture free? 
Suppose we fill the gourd again 
And then perhaps a lighter vein 
Of humor may appearance make 
Before our homeward ways we take. 
The Teacher here, I know full well, 
Has many stories he can tell." 

The Teacher seemed to hesitate. 

"There's but one tale I can relate 

Which, just this moment, seems to me 

About as light as one might be. 

'Twould please a child much more than you, 

But 'tis the best that I can do." 

"Proceed," the Host called urgingly, 

"And when you've done your part we'll see 

How much it may amuse a man." 

The Teacher smiled and now began: 



III 



112 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE 



The Sauciest Little Fellow 

I knew a little chap, one time, 

The sauciest little fellow, 
His eyes were blue, his hair was just 

The yellowest kind of yellow. 

He played about from morn 'til night 

And often got in trouble. 
Which never seemed to worry him, 

But Vanished like a bubble. 

He ran away one day, but soon 

His mother followed after 
And found him in a neighbor's barn 

Suspended on a rafter. 

She called to him: "Come down from there. 

Ah! wait until I catch you: 
Come down this instant, do you hear? 

You awful little wretch you." 

He answered: "Well, I won't come down 
An' you can't reach the rafter, 

Now you jes' get me if you can." 
And then he roared with laughter 

And to the friendly beam he clung 
And clinched and held the tighter. 

His mother thought a while, then said, 
"Well, you can stay all night, sir." 




"And Often Got into Trouble" 



AND OTHER POEMS 

Then straightway she began to pull 

Away the crumbling ladder. 
She had him in a dreadful fix 

Just when he thought he had her. 

His smile began to fade away, 
His mouth began a-twitching, 

He knew not which he most preferred 
A dark night or a switching. 

Well, out the door his mother went 
And left her hopeful thinking, 

And as he thought, try as he might, 
He could not keep from blinking. 

The minutes dragged them into ten, 
His little breast was swelling, 

He gave a smothered sob and then 
The most unearthly yelling 

That ever came from mortal boy 
That youngster's lungs emitted, 

And those around who heard him thought 
He really should be pitied. 

Old Misses Jones and Katie Brown 
And Sis and Maggie Winters 

Rushed madly out and surely thouglt 
To find the boy in splinters. 

But when they found that he was whole 

And saw his queer location, 
And saw his mother hid — they knew 

At once the situation. 



115 



ii6 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE 

They saw, however, he was scared 

And for his sins repented. 
And helped his mother get him down — 

And even she relented. 

Although when he had reached the ground, 
She made him promise truly, 

Before them all, he never would 
Again be so unruly. 

He gravely told her he'd be good 

Forever ever after, 
Then hugged his mother tight and said: 

"Well, 'is jes' beats that rafter." 



His story done, the Teacher bowed 
Amidst applause that sounded loud. 
"Oh, that was not so very bad," 
Remarked the Parson, "and it had 
The merit, I am glad to state, 
Of novelty, at any rate." 
"Ah!" said the Judge, "it called to mind 
One of my capers of like kind." 
"Here!" cried the Clerk, "whate'er it is. 
We've heard your reminiscences." 
"Then, too," the Host said, "it grows late 
And shortly we must separate ; 
But I would like to hear before 
The bolt is turned upon the door 
What great calamity befell 
Our Poet, and if he will tell 



AND OTHER POEMS 

We'll treat the confidence in tnist. 
Of course, there's none of us but must 
Have noticed he has seemed depressed — 
And evidently much distressed."- 

The Poet, with a startled stare. 

Arose and stood beside his chair. 

"My friends," said he, "I would delight 

In entertaining you tonight 

With something which might added cheer 

Lend the congenial atmosphere. 

But I'm constrained again to say 

I've been in beastly mood today. 

I have no story at command, 

That is — that you might understand. 

For mine, should I tell in detail. 

Would simpl}^ prove an endless wail — 

A sort of dismal caterwaul 

For which you would not care at all. 

But, since I'm asked to do my part, 

I'll strive to please with all my heart. 

My effort will, as you shall see 

When I am finished presently, 

Be short and metaphorical — 

I doubt if even musical." 

He paused a moment, while his gaze 

Seemed wandering in far-off ways. 

Into his pockets then he thrust 

His hands and blew a speck of dust 

From off the lapel of his coat. 

And with slight effort cleared his throat. 



117 



ii8 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE 



Summer And Autumn 

It was summer; the birds were singing 

And the whole world seemed in tune. 
It was summer; the woods were ringing 

Deep with the flush of June, 
And the days were mild and balmy, 

Still bearing the breath of spring, 
And my heart was filled with a something 

Consuming and maddening. 

For some one had come without warning, 

As Cometh the flowers in May, 
Or Cometh the sun in the morning. 

Clearing the darkness away. 
And the gods irova their thrones unbending 

Seemed showering gifts o'er me. 
And I, in my joy, unending 

Fancied their grace might be. 

O the days when we roamed together, 

The days by the hills and streams; 
O the mornings of sunlit weather 

And the evenings of moonlit dreams; 
And my ship of hope had entered 

The port while I held the prow, 
And my cup of life was brimming. 

But the dregs were there — and now- - 

It is autumn ; the leaves are dying 

And the birds no longer sing. 
It is autumn; the trees are sighing 

And the winds come blustering; 



AND OTHER POEMS 119 

And my ship of hope has vanished 

Over the crest of the sea, 
My cup is drained, and the bitter 

Is all that is left for me. 



The Poet sank into his chair 
And looked the picture of despair. 
A silence filled the crowded room 
Which seemed to drape itself in gloom. 
The tire for some cause burned low, 
The lantern lost its ruddy glow; 
In short, quite suddenly a cloud 
Seemed to have fallen o'er the crowd. 
And plainly, there was not a one 
Within the group who had not gone, 
At some remembered time of life, 
Through just this very kind of strife. 
Their hearts went out in sympathy 
To him who sat dejectedly. 

The Parson, in a manner sly, 
Winked when he caught the Doctor's eye. 
Which spoke as plain as words could do: 
"Remember what I said to you?" 

The Blacksmith was the first to speak; 
Said he: "Young man, you've had a streak 
Of luck that comes to every one 
Before his course in life is done. 
'Tis something like the whooping-cough — 
Severe at first, but soon wears off." 
"Yes," said the Poet mournfully, 
"I realize my malady 



I20 POEMS OF EMOriOXAL LOVE 

Is not the kind that kihs outright, 
Though oft its victims wish it might. 
I have attacks most every year 
And each attack seems more severe." 

The Doctor, with an effort, tried 
A quickly deep'ning smile to hide; 
Howe'er, the Poet saw his face 
And caught the humor of his case. 
And laughed a rather sickly grin 
Which broadened as the rest joined in 

The Host now took from off its peg 
The gourd and filled it from a keg. 
"Let's drink," he said "to better cheer 
And better luck this time next year." 
Then as the gourd went 'round, the gloom 
Seemed, like a mist, to leave the room. 
The hour, though, was growing late, 
'Twas nearly time to separate. 
So presently they rose and sang 
A parting song; the echoes rang 
About the cranies of the store 
From rafter-beam to well-Vv'orn floor. 

The autumn moon just showed liis face 
Through drifting clouds of silver lace 
As through the sign-bespattered door 
A noisy group came from the store 
And stood a moment in the street 
Deciding when again to meet. 
Then, through the town, the village heads 
Went home to seek their waiting beds. 



AND OTHER POEMS 



THE WANDERER 

O the path I came lay through rough ways, 

With craigs and rocks o'erlying, 
And it took many, many days 
To find the Hght through mystic maze 
Where black-winged bats were flying. 

Sometimes I slipped and fell and lay 

Amid the darkness, haunted 
By ghosts that followed on my way 
And laughed and mocked me day by day 
And sneered and gibed and taunted. 

But I arose and with my load 
Came onward, doubting never 

That through the vastness stretched a road 

Leading unto a calm abode 
Where I might rest forever. 

the path I came lay through rough ways 

Of horror, grief and sadness, 
But knew I not the dark of days 

1 would not know how bright the rays 

Of sunlight, nor its gladness. 



POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE 



HOME 

When troubles come to worry and perplex me 

And loom, like phantoms, in the dark'ning gloam, 

When every little trifle seems to vex me, 
I long for home. 

The little home, 'way back in days of childhood. 

Set like a tiny gem, complacently, 
Amidst the blooming jasmine and wild wood, 

Calls out to me. 

No matter what the magnet or attraction 
That leads me on and onward for a space, 

I see, amidst the glamour and distraction. 
The old home place. 

I close my eyes and see my mother sitting, 

Rocking, in the old familiar chair 
Beside the hearth, the fitful lamplight flitting 

About her hair. 

Ah, me! the world is full of kindly faces 

And doors are ever open where I roam. 
And yet to me, the place of all dear places 
Is one called home. 




'The Little Home Way Back in Days of Childhood" 



AND OTHER POEMS 



125 



NEW YEAR'S EVE 

O the minute hand on my Httle clock 

To twelve is wending its way, 
And ticks out the year with its wee tick, tock 

And closes the last dear day. 

And this wee tick-tock, in its tiny case, 

Seems faster around to fly 
As though it were trying to win a race 

In bidding the year good-by. 

But I'm in no hurry to see it go, 

And wish it were back again. 
But 'tis almost gone, and alas! I know 

My wishing is only vain. 

For I could not have, should I make request, 

Or call e'er so pleadingly, 
A day or an hour I have loved the best — 

Forever they've fled from me. 

And into the vortex of the dead past, 

Like a raindrop in the sea, 
How many a precious day I have cast 

That will bring no return to me. 



126 POEMS OF EMOTIONAL LOVE 

And the wee tick-took, it is doing well, 
And the moment of death draws nigh, 

Soon the midnight bells will ring out the knell 
And then I must say good-by. 

And now the old year is dead and gone, 
But I'll grieve o'er the past no more, 

For I'm ushered into another one 
Through a new and open door. 

Farewell Father Time, as you pass me by; 

I hope this year to improve 
So much that when next you come this w^ay 

I'll be worthy of your love. 

But the chances arc I'll be mourning the dead 

The same as tonight I do. 
For resolves, you know, are easier said 

Than kept for a whole year through. 



EVENING STAR 

0! star in yon sky above, thou art the star 

That looked down upon me away in the far 

Distant days of my childhood ; thou shinest as bright 

From thy little corner in heaven tonight 

As in the days of the long, long ago. 

Thou hast not altered, yet look! wouldst thou know 

That I am the maiden who once, happily. 

With dreams in her trusting eyes, smiled up at thee? 



AND OTHER POEMS 127 



HOPE 

Hope! thou hast led me on for years, 

Promising fortune — ever — 
Hope! thou hast caused me naught but tears, 

Promises fulfilled — never. 

Yet, though thou leadest through dark ways, 
Though thou hast made me doubt thee, 

Through the long stretch of endless days 
I could not do without thee. 

Thou art the only friend I know 
Who, when the night is dreary. 

Comes to my aid with smiles a-glow, 
And lulls me when I am weary. 

So, while I know thy ways to be 

Fickle and all elusive, 
Still art thou all in all to me 

With thy vague dreams seducive. 



WAY 33 1907 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



015 907 130 3 4 



